


Blessed

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Idrelle's Holiday Fanfic Gifts 2017 [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Acknowledgement of Love, F/M, Fluff, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: Mahanon Lavellan regularly walks the ramparts at night, to be alone with his thoughts. Josephine decides to join him.





	Blessed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kagetsukai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagetsukai/gifts).



> This is a gift for the lovely and amazing [@kagetsukai](https://kagetsukai.tumblr.com/), who never fails to make me laugh and smile. Thank you for all the support, your kind words and for being a fanfic cheerleader. You're amazing. 
> 
> Mahanon Lavellan belongs to her. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Skyhold was eerily quiet at night. 

When the stars rose and moonlight flooded the ramparts, when the kitchen staff finished their duties, leaving behind nothing but hot coals in the ovens, when the Herald’s Rest quieted down to a low murmur and soldiers and agents stumbled into their beds blind drunk, the entire fortress paused. Save for the whistling wind, the occasional cough of a sentry and the soft padding of an agent’s late return, Skyhold was silent. It made Mahanon nervous. He missed the woods and its nocturnal liveliness. The castle’s silence felt unnatural, putting him on edge, like he should expect something to go wrong. 

Josephine would laugh fondly at his consternation. When he casually mentioned the castle’s growing urban feel, she was quick to point out that they could never properly become a centre for trade and politics. They were too far away from civilization, out here in the mountains. 

“And yet you’ve done just that,” he had pointed out, gesturing at the bustling marketplace that had sprung up in the lower courtyard, near the stables. He didn’t need to mention that Josephine had also arranged three meetings for that afternoon with visiting dignitaries whose “visits” had already lasted over a month. He wouldn’t be surprised if they took up permanent residence in the name of bettering their respective countries. 

Josephine had chuckled and raised a hand to her mouth, attempting to cover her blush. “Yes, well, we all do what we can.” 

Only Josephine Montilyet would see fit to accept a compliment by making it communal. 

Mahanon shook his head and thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets—a lavish, fur-lined thing Josephine had purchased for him for the wintry nights—and quickened his pace. He was prowling the ramparts. Dressed in dark clothing and without a torch or lamp to guide his way, he was a shadow, a spectre on the walls, both there and not there. He enjoyed the ephemeral feeling; it reminded him of what it was like to hunt alone, stalking his prey through woods for hours, blending into the underbrush. Walking the walls was a nightly habit that had evolved from his need to put his mind to rest at the end of the day. During the day, no matter where he went, he could only ever be Inquisitor Lavellan. He was greeted by all manner of people, from merchants to soldiers to friends and companions, by his title. Even Josephine refused to address him as anything but such, even in private. But during the night, he could be Mahanon again. 

He let out a puff of air and rested a slender hand on the stone wall. There was a noon moon tonight and the stars were particularly bright. 

Adahleni had always sworn that new moons were blessed. That they were a night for wishes and dreams, where goodwill outweighed the bad. 

 _Adahleni…_  

In a way, she was a spectre herself. He hadn’t truly thought of her in a long time, but she was always present in his mind, hidden away in his innermost thoughts. He would carry her forever, her memory locked away in his heart. He hadn’t spoken of her here, to anyone in the Inquisition. He wondered what she would think of it, of what had happened to him. What would she have done, if she were still here? 

 _If she were still here, you would not be here. You would be home, with the clan, with Ellana. And someone else would hold the honour of being Inquisitor._  

His fingers clenched into a fist. _And if you had never gone to the Conclave, the world would be in a much more dire state. If no one had interrupted Corypheus, how much power would he have gained by unlocking the orb? All of Thedas could have been destroyed, for all you know._  

It was a bitter thought, but he could not cast it away. It was strange, how one unsuspecting path would eventually lead to another, how the actions of the far distant past could inform the actions of the present. 

“Inquisitor?” 

Josephine’s voice, carried on the wind, rang loud and clear in his ears. Mahanon turned, eyes squinting in the brightness of her torch. He watched as she carefully picked her way up the stairs, her long, heavy cloak trailing elegantly behind her. She had wrapped a scarf around her neck and shoulders and her hands were encased in wool mittens. Even bundled up as she was, he could have sworn she was shivering. 

But Josephine Montilyet was far too dignified to ever complain that she was cold. 

“Good evening, Josephine,” Mahanon said. “What brings you out here at this hour?” 

“I would ask you the same thing,” Josephine said, placing the torch in a nearby bracket. “Charter said you’ve been walking the walls for the past two hours.” 

“Has it really been that long?” 

“She also said that this is far from the first night you’ve done this,” Josephine continued. 

“She’s… not wrong.” 

Josephine chuckled, biting her lower lip. “What I mean to say, Inquisitor, is… would you like some company?” 

Mahanon smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

Josephine nodded and rubbed her hands together. She looked around at the darkness of the ramparts and walked to Mahanon’s side, resting her hands along the wall. “I must admit,” she said, “I am glad I am not the only one who keeps late hours.” 

“You keep early hours, too,” Mahanon said, thinking of the time he had entered Josephine’s office at dawn only to find that her fingers were already ink-splattered and cramping. “Have you ever heard of a marvelous thing called taking a rest? I believe you should try it.” 

Josephine laughed and rubbed her forehead, blushing. “That has occurred to me,” she said. “But there’s far too much work to do.” 

“Then delegate,” Mahanon replied. “Leliana has Charter and Harding and Cullen has Rylen. Even Iron Bull has Krem. Surely there must be someone who can help lighten your workload. You can’t work alone forever.” 

Josephine adjusted her scarf. “Wise words for a man who reportedly calls himself a lone wolf, Inquisitor.” 

Mahanon cursed inwardly. Had she taken offense? Josephine was a master at the polite façade. He had only ever seen it break once, and it had, strangely enough, been at Leliana for meddling in her private affairs. 

“I am well-versed in working alone, Josephine, but that doesn’t mean that I always have,” he said. “There are times when a Dalish clan demands unity from all its lethallen.” 

Josephine’s eyes widened. She fiddled with her scarf, pulling it up to cover the lower half of her face. “I didn’t mean…” she began, voice muffled by the wool. “That is, I only meant that I should listen to your advice—” 

Mahanon froze. “Oh!” he said. “Oh, no, no, _I_ meant that—” 

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, you are capable and talented in many areas, of course—” 

“I was only trying to explain that—” 

Mahanon caught her eye. Josephine had disappeared into her scarf and cloak, but he could still see her brightly honest expression. Muffled laughter emerged from her scarf and she pulled it down, her breath rising in the cold air as she laughed. 

Mahanon laughed, too. It began as a chuckle, then grew and grew until it was a fully-voiced, full-bodied laughed. He bent over, clutching his side, his laughter encouraged by Josephine’s endless giggles. Josephine reached out and gripping his shoulder, leaning on him for support. There was something comforting about the gesture. Mahanon looked at her, taking in her smiling face, the dark curls escaping from her braids, the freckles splashed across her nose, the mole on her chin. He knew her to be beautiful and charming, but she was also the most genuine, kind soul he had ever met. 

He admired her. He cherished her. And maybe—yes, maybe—he loved her, too. 

Mahanon swept Josephine into his arms. Josephine gasped in surprised, then buried her head in his neck, squeezing him tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Josephine murmured. “As Leliana likes to remind me, I am sometimes a terribly silly person.” 

Mahanon kissed the top of her head. “You’re a terribly _wonderful_ person,” he said. “Even if you work too much.” 

Josephine ran a hand through his long, loose hair. “I will try to schedule breaks into my timetable in the future.” 

“And a night off,” Mahanon added. 

“And a night off,” she agreed. 

Mahanon chuckled and pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. He glanced up at the stars, at the darkness of the new moon up above, and thought of Adahleni. What would she have thought of Josephine? Did it matter at all? All she had ever wanted, when she was alive, was happiness, for him and their daughter. And Josephine brought him happiness, a kind of happiness he had thought would be lost to him forever.

Adahleni could never have disapproved of that. 

She had said that new moons were blessed. Maybe she had been right. 

“Mahanon,” Josephine murmured. “I—” 

Mahanon tilted her chin and kissed her. Her lips were soft against his. In the silence and space of an instant, he felt her freeze, shaking with surprise and giddiness and a thousand different emotions. Then she slipped her hands around his neck and pulled him in for more, kissing him back with an intensity that could only come after so much longing and waiting. 

“Mahanon,” she breathed. _“Mahanon.”_

“Yes?” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. 

“I should join you on the ramparts more often,” she said with a smile that lit up her eyes. 

Mahanon returned the smile. He drew her close, his bare hands enclosing her mittened ones, forehead resting gently against hers. 

He would never again find Skyhold to be eerie at night.  


End file.
